by Maria Luis
Another nod, this one short and clipped as though in silent encouragement to himself to continue on. “I looked her up last weekend, just to see. She’s remarried, to a doctor this time. Has two little kids who go to a private school out in the Berkshires.”
I wonder if that’s what he wanted to find or if he’d hoped that she was still shacking up with his father, considering that his and Dave’s life have been a downward spiral. “What about your dad?”
“Dead.” He says it with little emotion, as though discussing the weather. “Got stabbed in prison a few years ago.”
My heart aches for him, bleeding for the little boy and the man he is now. “Marshall—”
He cuts me off with a shake of his head. “I’m not telling you this so you’ll feel bad for me, honey. I’m trying to show you a trend. I struck my dad, and Dave landed in jail. He’s spent his years out of it making sure I know how much I owe him for taking the fall, to the point that he went to the extremes and tried to get me kicked out of the NHL. I can understand why he’s upset. The mother he always thought was his, wasn’t. The man who was supposed to love him, beat him up on a regular basis.”
Marshall’s gray eyes gleam with frustration. “But the fact remains that I was caught in the crosshairs too. That day I grabbed a knife because my dad had hurt my mother to the point where I couldn’t even make out her features. I didn’t ask for my mom to place the blame at my brother’s feet. Hell, I barely even understood what was going on I was so young. It was his choice to grab that knife and twist. It was his choice, and I’ve been dealing with the fallout of that for years now.”
Even knowing that I should continue to stand my ground, I can’t stop myself from pressing my hand to his heart. It thuds beneath my palm, heavy and fast.
Marshall places his hand over mine. “And then in college, Gwen, I agreed to a bet because I was the odd one out. It was wrong. It was fucked up, and I’m more disappointed in myself than you’ll ever know. I guess . . . I guess what I’m trying to say is that I also don’t have much reason to trust people, just like you.”
My shoulders twitch. His words aren’t a jab but I feel startled nonetheless. Because I hear what he’s saying—he’s standing here in my apartment making a move. A move that I was too cowardly to take two weeks ago.
I’m not too cowardly now, and when I make contact with the Fake Gwen in the wedding dress, I know what I need to do and what needs to be said.
Don’t be the Old Gwen. Be brave, be you.
I open my mouth, fully prepared to apologize, to offer everything that I am to get him back. This is my opportunity to be the Gwen I want to be, the one who stands tall and strong and knows her own self-worth.
Marshall’s throat works with a hard swallow. “Sometimes fate works in mysterious fucking ways that I’ll never understand. But in the same breath that I should have told you everything a long time ago, I wish it wouldn’t have taken me walking away to realize how much you wanted me.”
35
Gwen
There’s nothing for me to say but the truth.
“I know.” Letting out a built-up sigh, I allow myself to sink down onto the couch. “I’m not proud of the way that I acted all these years, pretending that I didn’t want you, shooting you down. I can give you all these fake reasons why, starting with your age and the fact that you’re an athlete, but the honest-to-God’s truth is that I allowed fear to rule me.”
“Of what?” His voice is a seductive rasp as he takes the spot beside me on the couch.
“You called me out on it two weeks ago,” I tell him evenly. “I’m scared of becoming my mother and of ruining everything that I touch. I’m terrified of placing my complete trust in a man, only for him to snatch it away and try out someone new.”
My smile feels brittle as I continue, “I didn’t want to become just like Adaline, but in not wanting to be her, I became someone else.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I hurt people, I hurt you. And still I maintained that shell around me, in the hope that no one could ever touch my heart.”
I straighten my shoulders and lift my gaze to Marshall’s face. “But you already had, whittling down my walls over the years. You cared for me and showed me what it was like to hold someone and know that they wanted only the best for me.” I pause and look down at where I’m tracing little circles on my leg. “You showed me all of that and then I tossed you aside. I walked away when you called me out. You told me to get messy in love, and I fled like a coward.”
“Sometimes, we have to walk away in order to see things clearly.”
I think of Adaline and then the family playing in the snow, and then I think of my father and the last words he spoke to my mom right before their divorce. Don’t ever bail. In a tight voice, I murmur, “And sometimes when we stop being so self-centered, we realize that if we didn’t bail when things got tough, we’d be the happiest folks in the world.” I meet Marshall’s gaze head-on. “I bailed on you, and I have spent every moment in the last two weeks figuring out how I could make you realize how serious I am about our relationship.” I point at the three cutout couples along the wall. “And, yes, I went to the extreme, but I’ve got no playbook and I figured the more extravagant the better.”
Small as it is, I see a hint of a smile on Marshall’s face. “It’s the wealthy Bostonian in you.”
I shrug, even though I’m tempted to laugh because he’s probably right. “We started off as not-quite friends, Marshall. I let my head get in the way—”
“It’s a beautiful head.”
He surprises me by brushing my hair behind my ears, and I stop short of nuzzling his hands. “Thank you.” Remember to breathe. Easier said than done. “Crazy as those cutouts are, and I’m seriously hoping you picked up the reference to your alleged bondage days, I want them to symbolize our path. I want the happily-ever-after. I want the children and the yap-yap dog and the debate on whether we should eat out or stay in bed all day.” I swallow, hard, and then force myself to keep talking. “I want to live without fear, knowing that my best friend, the man I love more than life itself, is right by my side.” My chest expands because this is the moment, and I refuse to mess it up. “You are that man for me, Marshall, only you. You’ve ruined me for anyone else.”
His palms land on my thighs, and his voice is pure grit when he speaks next. “There’s no one else for me, Gwen. No one. These last two weeks, I’ve only been able to think of you. I wondered how I could give you the space you needed when all I wanted was you by my side.”
I choke back a sob, my hands going to his arms to pull him closer. “How can you forgive me so easily when I’ve screwed up so many times?”
“Because that’s the definition of unconditional love, honey. How do I prove to you that I’m not complete without you?”
Heart beating erratically, I tilt my face up to his. “You have me. You have my heart and everything there is for me to—”
This time it’s not his words but his lips that complete my sentence.
Oh.
My.
God.
He kisses me like it’s our first time all over again. Another fantasy kiss—each one strips a part of my soul and sews me back together into a version of myself that I love all the more because I have Marshall with me.
His lips work mine, demanding and needy in a way that I reciprocate fully. This kiss is urgent and hard and downright naughty.
Cradling the back of my head, he touches his tongue to my bottom lip, seeking entrance. I give it. I give him everything.
My fingers raking through his hair, my mouth moving under his, my breath held captive as he strips off my scarf (why do I even still have it on?), my coat, my boots. He never pulls away, as though worried I’ll disappear, and then he slips his hands up my sides to cup my breasts through my sweater.
“Marshall.”
“Fuck,” he groans, “you need to slow me down.”
“No.”
I yank him down onto the couch, pulling his body
over mine. “You owe me at least another fantasy kiss.”
He chuckles against my lips. “Pretty sure that you’re getting greedy now.”
“Pretty sure you’re the only one I hear complaining.”
Marshall’s eyes darken with lust, and he takes advantage of our position, rolling his hips against my core.
“The jeans,” I moan, “off, off, off.”
“Desperate?” he taunts. “What if I tell you no?”
Here’s to finding out.
I push him onto the floor, delighting in the way his eyes go wide with shock and then desire. Then my fingers are on the button of his jeans, slipping it free and tugging down his zipper until it hits the base. With a little help, I ease the fabric down his legs, taking his briefs along for the ride. “While I’ve enjoyed all the ways you like to make me warm, I’ve been thinking of all the ways that I could return the favor.”
“Gwen, you don’t have to—”
His words end in a masculine groan as I slick my hand over his erection and press my lips to the tip.
“Holy shit.”
I glance up past his thick cock to see Marshall up on his elbows. His T-shirt has ridden up his hard stomach, and he looks like a fantasy come to life. Utterly. Delicious. “This is one fantasy kiss you didn’t see coming.”
I close my mouth over him, making sure to watch him for his reactions. He doesn’t hold back. His fingers thread through my red hair, pushing the strands back so that he can see my face. With each downward thrust of my mouth, I give it to him exactly how he likes it.
Tight at the top, with a flick of my tongue under the head.
I do that, over and over and over again until he’s both praising me and cursing me all at once.
“No more,” he rasps, “I’m going to come, and I’ve been dreaming about that sweet pussy of yours.”
I give his cock one more hard pull, which is apparently all he’ll allow me. He strips off my clothes in record time, leaving me naked and waiting on my plush carpet.
“Hold on a sec,” he murmurs, leaving my side to head for the kitchen.
I don’t want to wait for him, and the memory of his lust-filled gaze as I made myself come over our video chat has my fingers dancing over my clit.
“You couldn’t wait, could you.” It’s not a question, but I can hear his laughter as he drops to the carpet and crawls his body over mine. “I love that you’re always so willing to show me what you like.”
I feel his blunt fingers trace my slit, encouraging me to widen my legs for his big body. My breath catches at the first touch of his finger to my clit, and then I’m left panting when he thrusts into me with one finger.
No, two.
“That’s always the magical number for you, huh, honey?” He drops a kiss to my mouth, feasting on me as his fingers pump in and out. “Two fingers to your clit, two fingers inside your pussy.” Another deep kiss that leaves me moaning like a complete hussy.
Those magic lips of his descend down my body, kissing here and there. My limbs freeze at the first touch of his tongue. He groans deep in his throat, and I feel heat sweep up my chest. “Oh, my God.”
The smooth glide of his fingers is replaced with his thrusting tongue, and I lose it. Right then and there, with no lead-up necessary. Fingers grasping my furry rug, I gasp and call out his name.
Another swipe of his tongue against my clit. A shiver works down my spine.
“You’re sweet.” He leans up to kiss me, devilishly and raw, and I taste myself on his tongue. “So damn sweet.”
He pulls back to prop my legs over his thighs, so that he’s nestled between my legs, his cock poised at my entrance. With his hands on my hips, it takes him only one thrust to enter me fully.
Wowza, wowza, wowza.
Shoulders bunching, he shifts his angle, hitting me just there.
“Yes.” My fingers dig into his thighs, delighting in every thrust of his hips. “Please don’t stop.”
“Never,” he growls, dropping his elbows to either side of my head so that he covers me fully. His chest meets mine, his breath whispering against my forehead. “I’m yours, Gwen.” He pulls out, nearly leaving me, before pumping back in sharply. “Always,” he promises, “for as long as you’ll have me.”
My hands tangle around his shoulders, and I kiss wherever I can reach. His forehead, his nose, his lips. “Forever. I’ll have you forever.”
“Good.”
He reaches down between our bodies, flicking his finger against my clit.
That one touch pushes me over the edge, sending me straight over. My thighs lock around his waist, unwilling to let him go. He never pauses, drawing out my orgasm as he keeps pace, working my clit until I come for a second (miraculous) time. Only then does he unlock my legs and push my knees up to my chest so that I’m his for the taking.
His mouth flattens, twisting in a way that turns his pretty-boy features into something darker, for me only, and then he comes with a low groan that I will never tire of hearing.
My head drops back against the rug as Marshall’s body collapses on mine. “You’ve killed me,” I mutter, tracing his spine with my fingers.
“You love me,” he returns. “I love you, too.”
Warmth spreads in my chest, and I hug him tight. “I love you, Marshall. I love you so much.”
“You better.” He presses a kiss to my mouth, then reaches for something on the coffee table. “Here, it’s a tradition.”
I glance up to see a blueberry pie in his hand. Laughter bubbles out of me. “You didn’t.”
He grins wickedly, though his gray eyes are so full of love. “Trust me, I did.”
“There’s no way I’m letting you near me with that thing.” I scoot back, pushing him off so that I can scramble up to my feet. “The only way I’ll let you come close to me with that pie is if it’s on a plate.”
“Aw, honey,” he rumbles, stalking me down. “I just want my two favorite things. My girl and my pie.”
I skip out of reach, knowing he loves the chase. Our laughter echoes in my apartment as I swipe his Christmas hat off the kitchen countertop and then take its place. My feet dangle against the side of the cupboards as I watch Marshall swagger past Fake Gwen and Fake Marshall and our fake little dog. His gaze is on me alone, and I love every second of it.
He dips one finger into the pie and licks it right off, giving a fake moan. “So good,” he growls, “are you sure you don’t want any?”
I take in his tattooed arms and his rock-hard body that’s been put through the test during hours of practice and brutal hits. “I just want you,” I tell him.
The final two feet between us disappear as he sets the pie down on the counter and lowers his face for a kiss. “I’ll take it,” he says, “and just so you’re aware, I plan to score a hat trick tonight, honey. I hope you’re ready for it.”
I cup his jaw, taking in the man I love more than I ever thought possible, and touch my lips to his.
And then I dig my hand into the pie and spread it all across his chest.
Because what’s love without a little mess?
The End.
Not ready to be done with the Boston Blades just yet? Perfect, because the fourth Blades novel will be releasing in June of 2018! And you may have a bit of an idea as to who it could be…Holly and Jackson Carter have to find their way back to each other, don’t they? Trust me, it’s going to be hilarious. I can’t wait to bring you their story! Sign-up here for the alert!
I’d love to hear what you thought about Hat Trick! If you have a few moments to leave a review, it would make my day. Reviews encourage other readers to give a book a try and are so important in helping a book to land on a new reader’s book-radar. Send me a link at [email protected], and I’ll thank you with a personal note. Thank you so much for taking a chance on Gwen & Marshall!
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Dear Fabulous Reader
Hi there! I’m so excited that you decided to take a chance on Gwen & Marshall, and I so hope you enjoyed them! If you’ve never read any of my books before, my Dear Fabulous Reader section is where I give a few behind-the-scenes glances at the book. Are you ready? Let’s begin…numerical-style!
1.Cheers, anyone? Although it might seem strange, there is actually some event space right above this iconic Boston restaurant. Inspiration struck, actually, from reality! A family friend held their wedding reception there—think fancy suits, servers dressed to the nines, and more finger sandwiches than you could possibly eat. Unfortunately, there were no super sexy hockey players that I recall being there!
2.Wintertime in Boston means (generally) frigid temperatures, hot chocolate, and…ice sculptures! Each year on First Night (New Year’s Eve), a famous local ice sculptor tromps out to Boston’s Copley Square to chisel gorgeously stunning sculptures for all to see. In Hat Trick, I took a little creative liberty and placed the event along the twinkling harbor, but if you were to ever visit Boston on the search for ice sculptures, now you know where to find them!
